


Romanticism Handled With Discipline

by Get_Going



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aaron Tveit - Freeform, Death Eaters, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, M/M, Marauders era, Slytherin, Suit Porn, jack falahee - Freeform, two insufferable boys are being insufferable at each other, weekly dinners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 01:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_Going/pseuds/Get_Going
Summary: As an eyebrow flexes over his sunken glare, and his lip twitches up into a most distasteful snarl, Lucius’s fingers wrap blindly around the salt shaker- and he raises it just high enough so that when he brings it back down against the table the sound circles all around them in an echo.Then he does it again. Smashing the heavy glass shaker against the table over and over again until his chair is kicked backwards and he rises to his feet.“You want the fucking salt, Rodolphus?”In an instant, the salt shaker is flying through the air- and it just narrowly misses the side of the other boys head, surely whistling through the air as it sailed by.“Fetch.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going 
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly. 
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/

Traditions, he would argue, are dubious little things. Ready for bending, evading and repurposing whenever the need for it intertwines with the opportunity to get away scot-free. Traditions are amendable, some are even unnecessary.

Not this one.

Rodolphus doesn’t care if the whole goddamn world is ending: **on Wednesdays, they have dinner.**

The entire past week he has continued his suddenly uneventful existence. Projects and essays a welcome - albeit boring - distraction from all the murdered mudblood murmur. Slightly more silent days came as unappreciated, but peace nonetheless.

And as he walked through the halls with Lucius a step further away than he usually stood; as he sat in the library only to look up from the book and see Lucius snap his own shut, storming away without saying a word; as he downed potion after potion alone because Lucius refused to participate in activities ‘wasteful and irresponsible’…

Rodolphus’s life still felt the same, but _a little bit to the left._

Delicate fingers find their way onto a hangar, twisting it to the side for coldly inquiring eyes to scrutinize, then move yet another shirt along the rail in dismissal. _Not good enough_. Their usual cashmere sweater routine - wearing things as trashy as they could find in their closet and getting messy in the kitchen only to give up and let the elves cook - is abandoned in an act of defiance.

The pristine suit laid out on his bed - slit pockets, tightly fitted slacks, a trim waist in the jacket - is a silent **fuck you** in retort for the entire week. The dinner is happening, but hell if I’m throwing flour in fits of giggles and pretending everything is the same.

Except on some level, Rodolphus wants to. _Of_ course he fucking wants to. But instead, he picks up one of his favourite custom-tailored burgundy shirts, and moves away from the closet. The whiffs of their shared cologne - same brand, same series, different odours each complementing the other - tangle together as his and Lucius’s shoulders brush past.

The rotation of the earth stills.

And they go on without as much as an acknowledging look. Rodolphus nearly opens his mouth in an impulse to spit out something acidic, but bites the insides of his cheeks in an act of self-restraint. He wonders when the tender flesh will finally start to bleed under the weight of all the venomous, unspoken words.

They say patience is a minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.

 _Perhaps that applies,_ Rodolphus thinks, inner voice dry and unimpressed as it ricochets off the walls in his own head. Lucius not ditching this dinner is maybe the only thing that solidifies the horribly shaky ground under his feet.

Is he being paranoid? May be so.

But he knows - knew for many years now, confusing years of existing alongside his father - that some arguments and misunderstandings don’t go away no matter how hard he wishes for it. No matter how pretty he makes himself look. No matter how many scolding comments he ignores; no matter how many things he’s willing to do to calm the anger in the eyes of someone he finds important.

Yet as he tightens the knot on his tie and exits the room, he **hopes.**

****


	2. Chapter 2

 

 **-No one but Night, with tears on her dark face,** watches **beside me in this windy place.-**

 

When Lucius was a small boy, his mother read him poems instead of stories to help him sleep. Sometimes for fun, she’d ask him; _How do you think this one will end_? It challenged the boy by way of creativity. Opened his mind and helped to mold his soul.

But all of that ended when Lysandra Malfoy died. Stories became studies, and books weren’t for enjoyment but for learning and for looks. Lucius did what he could to avoid _poems_. To avoid feelings. To avoid _everything._

This week he was avoiding life. The boy would do his best to avoid himself, if it were possible. What he did was the next best thing, and the only way he knew how to grieve without opening himself up to an extended misery of opened doors and outward emotion.

He pushed everyone away.

Lucius is an absolute mess when he thumbs over the fabrics on his side of the closet. Weeks prior, before the mess that was _The Train and the dead body_ ; The _last_ time Rodolphus and himself had their Wednesday dinner, Lucius was ‘shopping’ from his friends side of the closet. He distinctively remembers the way the material of the sweater felt against his skin, and how the deep amber color of the fabric tantalized his eye- in a way unlike any of the shades he himself owned.

This was different. He doesn’t so much as look in Rodolphus’s direction when the other boy soldiers by the door. He’s going to pretend he doesn’t notice which pair of shoes are missing from the rack or which custom tailored suit had been plucked from the hanger. In a way, he really doesn’t give a fuck. In the remaining ways, he hates the fact that he does.

The boy doesn’t choose a stuffy suit in a muted color. It’s not black but navy, and not so navy that it’s _blue_. It’s a rich, succulent navy that would shine beautifully beneath the candles that they lit to kill the smell of the tower; beneath the bright lights that dulled significantly by the time they’d offered luminescence for the boys to enjoy their food. The jacket is stitched and tucked by a tailor who had been on the Malfoy’s payroll for generations. Inserts in the shoes by a cobbler who worked as a private, _for hire._

When you’re expected to live your life with no weaknesses; no vulnerabilities… The rules are different. Warfare is different. The intentions are different. Everything is fucking different.

Especially when you’re the one who incited the war to begin with.

Lucius’s fingertips brush over the soft silk of a muted plum pocket square. It would _almost_ match the missing burgundy button down from Rodolphus’s side of the closet. **Almost.**

His jaw is set tight as he slips the square from the drawer.

  

**-When we don’t know who to hate, we hate ourselves.-**

 

As far as anyone was concerned, there was no reason for the plummeting of Lucius’s demeanor. Anyone except Emma, of course. The girl would be able to pinpoint the issue with time. For now, she herself would become a victim of his ridicule. As well as anyone else who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

Unfortunately anyone also included Rodolphus. _Especially_ Rodolphus.

Rodolphus left Lucius exposed. He’d unintentionally opened him up and left him defenseless, and for that, Lucius would punish the world.

But not, by Merlin… Not until he’d made it through this dinner. A standing _appointment_ made between friends that would not be cancelled until the apocalypse itself rained down upon them. And even then, with a scorched earth and fire in the sky, the boys would still share a bottle of Superior Red.

On this particular evening, Lucius was to meet Rodolphus in the Astronomy room- A large area filled with wall hangings of the night sky and worldly sculptures made of glass that descended from the ceilings by magic. On any other Wednesday night, they’d have first met in the kitchen in an _attempt_ to ready their own meals. This inevitably led to a gigantic mess that their hired help (read: elves) would clean up for them later.

Not tonight.

Tonight it was straight to the point.

To the table. To the feast. Everything else was up in the air.

Lucius isn’t sure if he’s even going to speak to Rodolphus. He wouldn’t be the first to mutter a single syllable. The younger boy was equally as stubborn, and so it was quite likely that the entirety of the night would be comprised of awkward glares and flexing brows.

Which is precisely what happens when he walks through one of two entrances to the Astronomy room. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he stalls in the door frame. Cerulean eyes narrow as he takes in the appearance of the entire room. A table had been laid out with two complete settings. Plates, goblets and silverware. Salt. Pepper.

_Rodolphus._

He’s standing in the door across from him, and with the way he stands, Lucius thinks it feels like he’s staring in a mirror. His eyes fall upon Rodolphus as easily as they always have, but this time he’s not wearing a smile, or a grin. Internally, he fights against the urge to show any kind of reaction to his arrival. _Indifference_ was key.

It had to be. Instead their eyes lock, and the silence thickens the room so fast that for a moment Lucius feels like he can’t breathe. But he steps through it. He steps through the air like he’s so god damn defiant of how hard it tries to _hinder_ him, because no.

Lucius would not be denied his right to look Rodolphus right in the god damn eye and make him feel just as fucking shitty as he did.

The boy would not rest until his misery had been unleashed on everyone around him, and at the end of it all, he would punish himself for that, too.

 

**-Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us.-**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes him a second to strangle that humane part of himself that just keeps getting in the way tonight. But he does it with the kind of readiness that belies experience. The natural desire to protect himself by hurting back overpowers the last shreds of common sense that he desperately clung to for an entire week.
> 
> The sliver of hope carefully hidden behind those dark eyes burns like a phoenix. And before it can be reborn, the ashes are gone with the wind.
> 
> So is his good will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/

He does his best to contain his thoughts. Uncontrollable, contradicting waves of ‘maybe’ collide with the built up walls of ‘think the fuck not’, and by the time he reaches the tower, he thinks himself resigned; thinks he made himself accept they’re heading to the chopping block and there was never any other option. But the truth is: he isn’t. And he didn’t. Because it all gets fucked to hell anyway. 

Rodolphus meets the steel blue eyes, both craving the contact and craving anything but. Expression free of malevolence, it is still guarded - he usually knows how to protect himself against the everlasting impassivity Lucius Malfoy practices so religiously. 

But not this time. Not when Lucius is standing on the other side of the room with a look entirely apathetic, worse than anything Rodolphus had ever seen on that face directed at  _him._

It takes him a second to strangle that humane part of himself that just  _keeps getting in the way tonight._  But he does it with the kind of readiness that belies experience. The natural desire to protect himself by  _hurting back_  overpowers the last shreds of common sense that he desperately clung to for an entire week. 

The sliver of hope carefully hidden behind those dark eyes burns like a phoenix. And before it can be reborn, the ashes are gone with the wind. 

So is his good will. 

He had known Lucius long enough. Consequentially, he knows that the absolute worst thing he could do when Lucius tries to make him hurt is to sit back and enjoy himself. Or at least look like it - which, Merlin, could he do. A page ripped straight out of the pureblood networking playbook of masking ill intent. Rodolphus is familiar. 

A jesting laugh escapes his lips, and he looks at Lucius as if all he sees is dirt. The fact that all he really sees is a secret treasure that could rival ancient manuscripts is no matter. Perhaps Rodolphus didn’t read the playbook. 

Perhaps he fucking wrote it. 

There is a chance Lucius will see right through it, there is a chance that he won’t. Rodolphus doesn’t let it bother him as he makes his way to the table - casual and relaxed, masking the way his bones all but burn underneath his skin. At the end of the day, it is the  _intent_  that really matters, and they both know it. 

He wonders if he will choke if he actually tries to eat. A petty part of him hopes he does. A pettier part of him hopes he will get to see Lucius’s face before right before it happens. 

Twisting the cutlery between long fingers, Rodolphus is sitting laid back, one elbow propped up on the back of his chair. His eyes don’t leave Lucius for a second - not when the boy in front of him starts eating, and not when he himself drinks from the glass. Watching the way one would watch a comedy play at the theatre - with detached amusement and perhaps a layer of admiration hidden underneath, but that is not the point. 

Rodolphus is interfering in his personal space even from far away, watching to the point he’s blinking less than he should. But not for a second do his eyes glaze over, because when he watches Lucius, he always  _looks._

As much as he would hate to admit such a thing, he’s hurt. Has been, subtly, the whole time. And when people get hurt, well, there are only so many ways it can go. 

Some are the bandage. Some are the knife. 

_Some_  get  **creative**. 

“Must we be so maudlin?” Buoyant gold, his voice drips like honey when it breaks the heavy silence. The genuine smile Rodolphus flashes one of the passing elves is day and night compared to the scrapes he’s feeding Lucius when he shifts his gaze back to the table. Having waited until the creature disappeared to make a point of making _Lucius_  the help, he shrugs. 

“My food tonight is awfully..” He throws Lucius an assessing look before melting into a grin, “ _bland_. Pass me the salt, will you?” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As an eyebrow flexes over his sunken glare, and his lip twitches up into a most distasteful snarl, Lucius’s fingers wrap blindly around the salt shaker- and he raises it just high enough so that when he brings it back down against the table the sound circles all around them in an echo.
> 
> Then he does it again. Smashing the heavy glass shaker against the table over and over again until his chair is kicked backwards and he rises to his feet.
> 
> “You want the fucking salt, Rodolphus?”
> 
> In an instant, the salt shaker is flying through the air- and it just narrowly misses the side of the other boys head, surely whistling through the air as it sailed by.
> 
> “Fetch.”

Lucius wants to wait for Rodolphus to take the first step, but if we’re being honest, a standoff such as that could drone on until the end of time. He thinks that maybe he’s stepped forward first, but Rodolphus seems to move at the same time. They both move towards the table, eyes glued to each other until they need to move their chairs to sit.   
  
He can’t keep track of how many times he needed to swallow down words of… Of what. Encouragement? Something that physically assured Rodolphus that it really wasn’t  _him_ , but he couldn’t help what came next. There’s an uninvited visitor that propelled Lucius forward in his behavior and he just can’t stop it.   
  
It’s like a train who’s only purpose has ever been to wreck.   
  
A cerulean stare stays focused on Rodolphus; even as he leans back in his chair. Even as he drapes himself over it, or takes a sip of wine from a heavy crystal glass. But eventually, he straightens in his seat and he manages to pry his attention from Rodolphus. All the while his mouth is tightened, teeth practically grinding behind pursed lips. The boy grabs at his napkin and lays it out, eyes now studying the food that appeared at the table.   
  
He would make it painfully apparent that Rodolphus was no longer worthy of his attention. Instead, he’d now focus on himself. Enjoying his food. Seemingly ignoring the other man’s existence.   
  
Lucius’s face never softens, not even when he’s chewing. Especially not when he takes a long swig of the red wine that was meant to pair perfectly with both the main course and the side dish.   
  
When he needs to swallow down another lump, he makes sure to time it along side an intake of food. The boy gulps down any threatening sentiment and washes it down with alcohol.   
  
_Because_.   
  
All of a sudden, his cover is almost blown. Rodolphus as the audacity to speak to him out of nowhere, which Lucius supposed he should have expected. Where Lucius had intended to make it through the dinner without so much as a word, the younger boy would have made it a point to try and  _force_  him into conversation- especially as he noted that Lucius was almost  _painfully_  silent.   
  
**Not**  because Rodolphus just couldn’t stand it. But because getting Lucius to mutter some sort of eerily frustrated  _bullshit_  would amass yet another notch in his victory belt.   
  
Six words.   
  
Six words is all it takes to spark the short fuse that is Lucius’s temper.  
  
**Pass me the salt, will you?**  
  
Lucius stops chewing, jaw pausing amid mastication. At first, his eyes settle over the silverware he’s just sat down against the table, blinking rapidly for a few moments while he resisted the urge to flip the entire table onto it’s side.   
  
He can’t pretend that he’s not imagining both glasses of wine landing directly on Rodolphus’s lap. Or a fork stabbing him in the thigh. Or the entire bowl of whipped potatoes landing against the front of that fucking  _perfectly_  fitted burgundy shirt.   
  
Instead his eyes shift up to catch a glimpse of Rodolphus as he sat, a maniacal grin spread over that crooked mouth of his that Lucius suddenly wants nothing more than to wipe clean. As an eyebrow flexes over his sunken glare, and his lip twitches up into a most distasteful snarl, Lucius’s fingers wrap blindly around the salt shaker- and he raises it just high enough so that when he brings it back down against the table the sound circles all around them in an echo.   
  
Then he does it again. Smashing the heavy glass shaker against the table over and over again until his chair is kicked backwards and he rises to his feet.   
  
“You want the fucking salt, Rodolphus?”   
  
In an instant, the salt shaker is flying through the air- and it just narrowly misses the side of the other boys head, surely whistling through the air as it sailed by.   
  
“ _Fetch_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaching for Superior Red and bringing it to his lips, he takes an irreverent, disrespectful swig, and sends the bottle flying on the table between them, too. Streaks of garnet paint the perfectly white tablecloth, an exclusive thousand-year-old wine from Malfoy apothecary obliterated in one act. Ah, the poetry of assholedom.

The salt shaker flies by, nearly grazing his right ear, and it’s not something Rodolphus had the luxury to not get used to - so he doesn’t flinch. A sharp jerk of his chin to the left, movements short and minimal, eyes glazing over for the briefest of seconds as he waits for the sound of glass shattering somewhere behind his back. 

He blinks and inhales, realizing he hasn’t been breathing. 

The expression he now presents Lucius with is painfully blank, and the tip of his middle finger slowly circles around the nail of his thumb, pressing so hard he’s almost certain it draws blood. 

_Fetch._

_**Fetch.** _

Rodolphus goes on the offensive the same way he makes love: carnal, enticing, and unmerciful. 

Charging forward in the most unassuming of ways, elbows pressing against the wooden surface and bearing the weight of his upper body, he regards Lucius with head lifted - yet not slighted by the difference in their positions, macabre eyes gazing up from behind dark brows are almost  _diabolical_. 

The volatile look is blinked away by an innocent bat of black eyelashes, and the way he drags the tip of his tongue across his lips is nothing but sinuous. A smile both of a vulture waiting for its prey to die and of a man about to whisper salacious secrets to his date. 

Rodolphus walks two fingers across the table, playful and patient until they reach the side of Lucius’s plate. Then scoffs. 

**The sound engulfing the room in the following seconds is one of plates and glasses clashing with each other, swept off the table in a sudden, unbridled motion.**

In a familiar fashion of wreaking havoc to divert attention from the fact that Rodolphus himself was less than whole, he forbids his knees from buckling, and rises to his feet. 

He’s fond of orders, but only in a sense of obeying them in a way that makes people wish he didn’t. Summoning and repairing the goddamn salt shaker with his wand - fetching it, if you will - Rodolphus lifts it to match their heights. For a long second regret washes over him, a biting helplessness making him face Lucius with the kind of look that is unprotected and vulnerable. 

The kind of look that in a situation such as this one says  **I love you, but enough is enough.**

Now entirely empty, his friend’s side of the table meets the falling object with an obliterating beat, broken shards reaching their suits. It’s symbolic, in a way, of things he wishes it wasn’t. Broken tradition. Broken patience. Broken friendship? 

Broken Rodolphus. 

Reaching for Superior Red and bringing it to his lips, he takes an irreverent, disrespectful swig, and sends the bottle flying on the table between them, too. Streaks of garnet paint the perfectly white tablecloth, an exclusive thousand-year-old wine from Malfoy apothecary obliterated in one act.

Ah, the poetry of assholedom. 

Rodolphus’s hand extracts the pocket square from his friend's jacket unceremoniously, and the way it almost matches his own shirt weighs on his chest in a painful, sinking sensation. Dabbing his lips, he throws it as a final touch towards all the mess, a cherry on top of Marie-Antoinette’s cake as something _important_  is being bypassed and neglected. But then again, perhaps he isn’t and never was. 

**“You’re a _goddamn piece of work, Malfoy,_ ”** the look he gives Lucius is bitter amusement, notes of disappointment lacing through his voice. In his friend as much as in himself for being gravely mistaken in the first place. **“I guess I should’ve fucking known.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s his fault. Everything is his fault. Lucius is the cause of this pain just as he had authored his own. He can’t convince himself that he’d ever be worthy of instigating anything else. It was better this way. If Rodolphus fell apart despite him, then he’d never waste any more time trying to stitch Lucius back together. 
> 
> It was a waste of his talents, and Lucius didn’t deserve it.

When Rodolphus begins to move, Lucius doesn’t so much as flinch. The boy has known the eldest Lestrange long enough.. And well he just bloody  _knows_  him deeply enough to understand what each tiny flutter of his expression means. When his jaw hardens. His eyes widen. The tiny hitch of his breath that catches in his throat- don’t think that Lucius doesn’t  _notice_.   
  
Lucius was good. Rodolphus was  _good_. But damn it all if either of these boys were well practiced enough in hiding this shit from one another.   
  
Rodolphus is on his feet in an instant. Immediately on the offense and the defense  _all at once_. He would not back down, and Lucius knows it. The blonde boy had committed an act of battle. He knew better, but that didn’t matter.   
  
He can feel the blind rage radiating from behind the darkest and most magnificent irises he’d ever laid eyes on. It bares into him with the heat of a thousand suns and Lucius… Lucius would absorb each and every ounce of sunfire and then he’d ask for more.   
  
All the while Rodolphus destroys everything around him.   
  
It’s like walking backwards in slow motion- in the middle of an earthquake. The younger boy sweeps the entire table setting off on to the floor. Delicate crystal smashing into a million pieces. Fine china exploding as it crashes against painted concrete floors.   
  
Still, Lucius stands stiff as a board. Hands shoved into his pockets while his eyes focus solely on Rodolphus and nothing else.   
  
He can feel the way his bottom lip threatens to wobble. His pale brows are in danger of creasing over an determined and concerned stare. Any other bystander might feel they’re baring witness to two explosive worlds colliding.   
  
Lucius looks at Rodolphus and he sees him falling apart.   
  
It’s his fault. Everything is his fault. Lucius is the cause of this pain just as he had authored his own. He can’t convince himself that he’d ever be worthy of instigating anything else. It was better this way. If Rodolphus fell apart despite him, then he’d never waste any more time trying to stitch Lucius back together.   
  
It was a waste of his talents, and Lucius didn’t deserve it.   
  
Just as fast as Rodolphus had exploded in front of him, he’s pulling himself together, closing the space between them with haste. Before Lucius can decide whether or not he’s going to react, the dark haired boy slips the pocket square from his pocket. He dabs the side of his mouth, and then he disposes of the cloth into the floor.   
  
**You’re a goddamn piece of work, Malfoy.**  Yes.   
**I guess I should’ve fucking know.**.  _Yes_.   
  
Lucius’s upper lip quivers, and as his breathing becomes more erratic, his teeth bare from behind his lips. Little warning is given when his hands grasp at the smooth lapels of Rodolphus’s suit, and before either of them realizes what’s happening, Lucius is backing the boy backwards into the wall.   
  
He throws him into the concrete, but Rodolphus is so close to Lucius’s own size that he can’t quite lift him off of his feet. Instead, he’s pinned him at the throat- his arm pressed into his jugular while the silver eyed boy nearly jabbed at his perfectly etched jaw with the point of his nose.   
  
“You really should have, Rodolphus.” He snarls, but his voice shakes. God  _damn_  it, his voice shakes, and it threatens to give him away. To  _expose_  him as a fraud. It’s his hope that Rodolphus is so overcome with rage that he can’t tell how his snarl nearly begins to droop into a frown. How his jaw threatens to tremble as the hate that spews from his lips breaks his fucking heart. “You’ve always known better. We both have.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”Well come on,” His voice drops impossibly low, fond and sweet as he pants and finally manages to battle his way closer. Their cheeks brush against each other with no opportunity for eye contact, and the blood on Rodolphus’s lips, drawn by his very own teeth, stains Lucius’s ear. The next words drip like venom. 
> 
> “Do it, Luci. Hold me tighter.”

The sharp pain in his shoulder blade and the realization of just how _deep_ they’re digging themselves hit him simultaneously. Rodolphus doesn’t feel alive enough to process either one.

Lucius is too close and everything else is too far, and time scrapes to a tormenting, horrifying halt. The gunmetal blue in the other boy’s eyes burns like wildfire, and Rodolphus, the grateful victim of arson, swallows a lump in his throat.

Inevitable destruction or a chance at redemption? Or _both_?

In a way unbearably misplaced, his touch is soft, gentle fingers brushing past Lucius’s wrist and to the back of his hand, covering it with his own. Their palms are crossed now, Rodolphus’s jackhammering pulse right beneath, the entirety of his neck covered with a sentiment more suffocating than the physical restriction itself.

He gives it a small, reassuring nod. A tight squeeze.

The back of his head hits the cold concrete, and his mind twists and converges on itself. A barely noticeable quiver in Lucius’s voice somehow reaches his conscience through the layers of whirling worms.

**Hurtful affection or cruel deception?**

Rodolphus loses it.

“ **Do it,"**  the delicacy is gone in an instant, he’s seething, trying to snake his way into Lucius’s mind, the older boy’s hand a life raft he’s both grasping and trying to sink. Still held in place, his neck is prolonged to get his face closer, the whole body twitching to bounce himself off the wall despite the forearm pinning down his clavicle and fingertips burning marks into the tender skin.

 _It will leave bruises,_ he thinks with a manic delight and an amusing quip.

And only lunges forward again like a pit bull raised in a crackhouse, a laugh almost victorious mixing with the all-encompassing, blinding rage.

” _Well come on,_ ” His voice drops impossibly low, fond and sweet as he pants and finally manages to battle his way closer, cheek brushing against his friend's with no opportunity for eye contact. The blood on Rodolphus’s lips, drawn by his very own teeth, stains Lucius’s ear. The next words drip like venom. “Do it, _Luci_. Hold me **tighter**.”

The side of his head now rests on the side of Lucius’s as he lets himself catch a breath, and then he’s back to his rightful position against the wall. All the whys and hows - long forgotten; blame for something he never did - blindly accepted; an insatiable appetite for self-sabotage - almost satisfied.

_Almost._

An earsplitting silence invades the room as he does his best to make up for the oxygen deficit with grace, avoiding desperate gasps, lightheadedness be damned, and zeroes in on Lucius’s face like he’s looking at a picture, at a statue, at an embodiment of something once real now so frustratingly _far_ and _detached._

He narrows his eyes.

_What bothers thou, satan’s little chariot of failed potential? Who dared scorn you? Was it **me** or was it **you**? _

_What, for the love of Merlin, governs this madness?_

His dearest friend is a master of deflection, Rodolphus remembers. And although he does not know the real reason for this chaos, he knows _Lucius_. 

“ **You will not drown _the truth_ -**” he melts into a knowing smile, eyes empty windows of burned-out cities, “ **-in seas of _blood_**.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not the neverending depths of the sea, Rodolphus.” Lucius spits, an explosion of glass collapsing down around the eldest Lestrange brother. Shards of glass burst into every direction, ricocheting like a heavy rain off of Black Lake. “You’re not some enigma wrapped inside of fine Italian wool. You’re nothing. You’re nothing.”

Everything about Rodolphus’s behavior is a trigger for Lucius in this moment.  _Everything._  From the melodic tones he uses when he speaks which are entirely for Lucius’s benefit, to the theatrical way his movements intermingle with every bit of the older boys intentions. At one point it’s skin on skin contact. Hushed words that invade his ears, almost a whisper and with breath hot enough to tickle the inside of his eardrum.   
  
He torments Lucius. Throwing his own ill resolute back into his face with a furious disdain that Lucius had only ever seen projected on to others. Deep down inside of his gut he can feel the way the pain churns against his conscience, and everything inside of him screams for him to  _stop this madness_.   
  
But he can’t.   
  
He won’t.   
  
There’s a point where Rodolphus’s head rests against Lucius’s, where the only things that ignite his senses are the feel of his coarse hair against his skin and the heady scent of him that ordinarily would bring Lucius comfort. It’s just  _more_  pain. Gasoline onto the fire, punctuated by the venom that Rodolphus offers up with his words.   
  
He thinks he knows. Rodolphus thinks he knows that Lucius is acting out. It becomes evident when Lucius takes a step back and his friend glares at him;  _through him_ , with that disgusting smile that tells him everything he needs to know about what goes on in the other boys mind.  **You will not drown the truth in seas of blood**.   
  
Lucius nearly stumbles back, expelling a huff of air and sucking another in just as fast. Still he offers no words. None in response to Rodolphus’s affliction or otherwise- but instead he reaches into the innards of his suit jacket, and hastily grasps at the butt of a 13 ½ spruce that sat idly in his breast pocket.   
  
“There is no truth.” His voice may be just a little too calm for comfort, but as he draws his wand and points it towards the sky, the muttered incantations would bring the world around them to life far better than his words would have been able.   
  
From the ceiling and displays around them, various glass sculptures would detach from their holsters. Charms used to keep them in place shattered by the bit of magic that Lucius now cast upon them. Two of them..  _Three_.. They’re large and made entirely of delicately spun glass- nearly see through and with as opulence as beautiful as cultured pearl.   
  
“ _There is only perception_.” As he vacated back towards the center of the room, the glass planets moved closer to Rodolphus, rotating on their axes as they spin around in a ridiculously orchestrated demonstration.   
  
What was it they said about driving too close to wildfire?   
  
It was when he dropped the first planet at Rodolphus’s feet that hot tears threatened to breach the lining of his eyes.   
  
“You’re not the neverending depths of the sea, Rodolphus.” Lucius spits, an explosion of glass collapsing down around the eldest Lestrange brother. Shards of glass burst into every direction, ricocheting like a heavy rain off of Black Lake. “You’re not some enigma wrapped inside of fine Italian wool. You’re nothing. You’re  **nothing**.”   
  
What Lucius  _wanted_  to do was confess these feelings of himself. Wanted to tell his closest friend that if it weren’t for the likes of him- Emma, Amycus and Alecto… Hell, Rabastan and Mulciber… Without them, he was nothing.  _With_  them he was nothing. Only a product of his upbringing. Barely his own person. A disaster formed at the hands of Abraxas Malfoy who would go forth into the world and  _destroy_  it.   
  
Naturally, he turns all of his internalized loathing onto the person he cares about the most.   
  
With a flick of his wrist, a second planet plunges to it’s death- just shy of the first, a similar detonation allowing bits of glass to tear through the air at optimal speeds.   
  
“Merlin.  _Damn_  you.” Lucius doesn’t even realize how he’s begun to completely break down, wand suddenly as heavy as a brick in his hand. “Why do you have to make this so hard.”   
  
For a split second he feels resentment towards Rodolphus. He’s never been able to keep his composure quite as well as his friend. Never been able to flip that switch with such ease. Right now his knees feel week. The boys face flushes, suddenly hot with frustration as a streak of crimson washes over his lip, dripping freely from his nose. Lucius takes one final draw, winding his arm back like he were preparing to throw a pitch at a baseball game. One planet remained in his arsenal.  _Earth_.   
  
Lucius always was one for the dramatics.   
  
He releases a burst of excess energy, his lungs emptying into the void as a scream ripped through the air along side the Earth as it sailed forward in Rodolphus’s direction. There are no breaks. There’s no veering off at the last minute.  
  
It’s destination was Rodolphus’s fucking head, and Lucius had dropped his wand long before he could consider taking it back.   
  
A last minute gasp of air populates his lungs, the sound of his wand hitting the floor drowned out by the high pitched banter of his senses finally coming to him. Before his hit can land, Lucius has turned on the bed of his heel and started off in the opposite direction.   
  
Before Rodolphus would have a chance to dodge and weave from his final attack. Before he could be stopped. Before his  _friend_  could tackle him to the ground and mash his face into ribbons.   
  
He’s got to get out. He needs to escape. The boy wants nothing more than solidarity now that he’s managed to destroy one of the only things that could  _ever_  possibly destroy  _him_.   
  
And when he finally finds it, alone and contemplating the purpose of life itself, he loses it.   
  
He  _loses_  it.   
  
Reduced to a pile of mixed emotions and perpetually unresolved fears, Lucius Malfoy finally crumples beneath the weight of the world.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius looks almost defeated.
> 
> After breaking the world around Rodolphus?
> 
> After sending the earth plummeting at him with tremendous speed?
> 
> After intending nothing but to get rid of him?
> 
> Another rock breaks into a thousand pieces, and he has to walk around the chunks now - almost every inch of the asphalt covered in Rodolphus’s hurt, Rodolphus’s rage, Rodolphus’s promise of vengeance.
> 
> Lucius Malfoy will only get to act defeated when Rodolphus says he is.

_Rodolphus can count on three slender fingers the definitions of hurt._

**First.**

The descent of Neptune marks the moment he forgets how to breathe, lungs drowning in its fragments beneath his feet.

The flicks of Lucius’s wand are unmerciful and orchestrated: Nero, fiddling while Rome burns. His voice is a rough, cutting thing that carries across the palpable, unbearable distance between them, and settles in the base of Rodolphus’s spine.

_You’re nothing. **Nothing.**_

It is excruciating and sadistic and unnecessary, _and absolutely true._

Rodolphus is a lot of things, but he’s nothing _good_ , nothing _light_ , nothing _important when it really counts_. The destruction raining chaos on the room is now traced on his sternum; it gnaws at his stomach; giggles high-pitched in his ear.

And he says nothing. Does nothing. He can’t move.

Because he has stopped trying, by now, to match his endless misdoings with the multitude of karmic acts of justice. When hell is unleashed upon him, when frustration hits him in overwhelming waves…all he can do is lower his head and take it. And so he does, allowing the waterfall of Lucius’s wrath rain and beat down on one of the most treasured things in his life.

Somewhere along the way, he must have done something to deserve it.

 

**Second.**

The descent of Saturn marks the moment he forgets where they are, the exquisite room now a battlefield, ground swept from under his feet.

_Why do you have to make this so hard._

Rodolphus shivers with anarchy, incredulous and disbelieving, the sentiment of words falling from Lucius’s mouth bypassing him and landing somewhere among the heaps of shattered glass surrounding them.

Pallor ashes his features: and for a short second, anguish rushes up his throat like bile, and Rodolphus thinks he’s going to be sick.

He’s watching his closest friend turn into his father - a man who is both his worst nightmare and his saving grace. And as the room shrinks and dwindles around him, all he can think is not _why_ , not _why him._

But **why now**.

The streak of blood runs down the older boy’s lips, and Rodolphus is staring at it - the horror of two mirrors reflecting each other’s emptiness - like none of this is really happening, not to _him_ , not to _them_. Wide eyes track the crimson dropping on the floor, entranced and disconnected, and that’s how he almost misses the short window to save himself.

Lucius is leaving, he’s turning on his goddamn heels and rushing out.

Catching back the pathetic plead to stay is the singular most difficult and impressive thing Rodolphus has ever done.

**Third.**

The descent of Earth marks the moment he forgets who he is, and comes undone. 

Last planet flying towards Rodolphus at unsettling and overpowering speed, he barely has the time to duck. The ornate model grazes the side of his head, decorations in convex patterns colliding with him, scratching his cheekbone, and the pain shatters the last shreds of control on his face.

The sick, gutted sound escapes his lips - the sound of a body coming apart within its own skin.

Instead of straightening his posture, Rodolphus sinks to the floor - slow and dazed. He picks up a broken piece of the solar system, staring at his reflection - half-covered in thick carmine, pieces of glass caught in his hair - completely, absolutely…unrecognizable.

In a trail of thought he will later come to realize is the most unfortunate, out of sheer emptiness and lack of options, _Rodolphus remembers where he comes from._

The moment he decides to turn to his upbringing for comfort is the moment everything breaks.

Rips a hole in the ground.

And tumbles to hell.

Rodolphus is Pandora’s fucking box, and he’s been piling books and potions and expensive trinkets on top of the lid for **years** , praying at the most ungodly hours of the night that it stays sealed for as long as he’s breathing.

_Lucius waltzes into his carefully woven web of lies and put up walls, and Lucius rips the lid off its hinges._

The only thing left in the world is blade-cut-clean, ice-pure, blood-curdling rage.

He will _follow_ Lucius. To the ends of the earth and the edges of time.

And he will sink his fingers into his flesh, he will crush his bones, he will spill his blood and he will do his best to savour every last second of it, to beat out of Lucius the deep-seated value he held for Rodolphus.

Even if at the end of the day it will only hurt him more.

Rising to his feet, he charges forward, walks among the ravaged ground, and steps out into the pouring rain.

His jaw tightens. Lucius dug his own grave, and the wand Rodolphus pulls out of his pocket as he makes his way to the viaduct is nothing but a fucking shovel.

“ _Luuuuciuuuus,_ ” he drags, loud and clear into the night, scouring the bridge with a manic, hungry look in his eyes. “ **Come out, Lucius**.”

Rodolphus spots him from afar. It is when the first massive rock, levitated by a sharp flick of his wand, hits the ground between them. A deafening thud mixes in with the distant, rumbling thunder.

“ _Come out to play,_ “ mocking and anticipating, words are sweet poison. He licks his lips.

And then there it is - the figure crouched in the darkest, farthest corner of the viaduct, thick and absolute darkness converging on them both from all fronts.

Lucius looks almost  **defeated.**

After breaking the world around Rodolphus?

After sending the earth plummeting at him with tremendous speed?

After intending nothing but to _get rid of him_?

Another rock breaks into a thousand pieces, and he has to walk around the chunks now - almost every inch of asphalt covered in Rodolphus’s hurt, Rodolphus’s rage, Rodolphus’s promise of vengeance.

**Lucius Malfoy will only get to act defeated when Rodolphus says he is.**

” _Stand up,_ ” he bites out and throws his hand into the air, several weighty rocks rising from the earth behind him. Rodolphus knows it all to be some ploy, some trick to make him back off, it must be _something_. And for this mediocre attempt at yet another deception, he will rain chaos on the boy who turned out to have the power to hurt him in ways he had never imagined.

“ _Stand up_ , you worthless _piece of shit_ , and _look me in the eyes_.»

Rodolphus is out of breath, voice hoarse from screaming, and blood from his wound is trickling down his face, mixing with the drops of rain.

Then…

Then he sees.

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is crying._

The only time Rodolphus witnessed it happen marked the beginning of their friendship twelve long years ago.

An intrusive thought snakes its way into his mind: would it not be poetic, if Lucius’s crying marked the ending, too?

He suddenly cares very little for this kind of poetry.

A sentiment that would bring Rodolphus nothing but sadistic joy coming from anyone who wronged him…Now hurts as if it’s _him_ crouching on the ground.

Rodolphus loosens the grip on his wand and lets it fall, leaving himself completely disarmed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He only peers momentarily over his shoulder into Rodolphus’s direction, before his entire body swivels in a display of feigned supremacy. His legs shake as he forces himself from the ground, his breath relaying in short spurts as the tears that flow freely from his eyes are washed away by a barricade of rain. 
> 
> Fingers are rolled into hard fists at his side. 
> 
> His entire body quivers as his misery etches itself into his features like stone. But he would stare Rodolphus directly in his eye, and with a stubborn rally, he issues a challenge of his own.

Rodolphus Lestrange had always, without a doubt, known how to make an entrance. Quick on the heels of Lucius’s retreat, he’s storming out into the extremities of highland weather- an implied threat lingering on the tip of his tongue in the form of a taunt.   
  
 _Come out, come out, wherever you are._    
  
Lucius is curled into himself, the heavy rail that lined the structure offering some semblance of stability where there otherwise would be none. The harsh cold of the rain was a pleasant contrast to the sudden onset of heat that seemed to set his body on fire. He thinks his skin could be melting right off of his face. His pulse thrumming so hard that it could have burst. At some point the boy is sure he can  _feel_  his blood in a fit of flame burning a river through his veins as he cries out underneath a sensational clap of thunder.   
  
And Rodolphus would continue to  _taunt_  him.   
  
The rubble crashes against the walkway of the viaduct in an expert display of just how  _fast_  the other boy could transition into destroying your  _whole world_.   
  
 **Stand up**. Rodolphus commands it. He doesn’t care that Lucius is in the midst of emotional turmoil, but he isn’t alone. Lucius didn’t care, either. He’s fighting an internal battle, split down the middle between  _you’re human, grieve_  and  _you were raised better than this_. Still, his pride swells and he swallows down his anguish down in one miserable gulp.   
  
He only peers momentarily over his shoulder into Rodolphus’s direction, before his entire body swivels in a display of feigned supremacy. His legs shake as he forces himself from the ground, his breath relaying in short spurts as the tears that flow freely from his eyes are washed away by a barricade of rain.   
  
Fingers are rolled into hard fists at his side.   
  
His entire body quivers as his misery etches itself into his features like stone. But he would stare Rodolphus directly in his eye, and with a stubborn rally, he issues a challenge of his own.   
  
“ _Come on then._ ” He’s yelling, and he can’t control the way his voice rattles, weakness imminent in his stature but he will  _not_  succumb to any sort of perceived defeat unless it were on his own terms.   
  
“ **Do your fucking worst.** ” The boy nearly chokes on the words, Rodolphus fading fast from his view as his vision blurs first by way of his tears, and then his eyes shut closed. A nail in the proverbial coffin.   
  
Lucius steps forward, his arms out stretched while he’s continuously drenched with cold rain. He offers himself up to Rodolphus like some sort of tribute. A sacrifice. Of himself,  _for_  himself.   
  
 _Destroy me and end my pain._  
  
But the crushing of Lucius never comes. Moments of silence pass and only the sounds of raindrops and crashing thunder can break up the string of unabashed thoughts that run through his mind. His eyes open again and he’s nearly startled to find Rodolphus simply  _standing_  there- both hands devoid of any sign of a wand. He’s disarmed. He’s just  _staring_.   
  
“I said  **COME ON**.” Lucius steps forward, hurling another insistence at his friend as he begins to close the space between them- certain in his mind that the closer he got would decrease the likeliness of Rodolphus’s  _control_.   
  
But he does nothing. Once upon a time the look on Rod’s face would have reduced him to a puddle of simple dissatisfaction. But now it just brings confusion. Rodolphus doesn’t quite give a shake of his head but his jaw juts, and it’s just as well.   
  
For the second time, the entirety of Lucius’s composure is out the window. His own steely stare is no match for the heavy chestnut that helps to bring him to his knees; Fixated on Rodolphus as he stood before him. Blonde hair sticks to nearly every surface of his face- plastered against his forehead and down his cheeks, nearly working as a shield for his eyes. The blood is long gone from his nose and face, the crimson replaced by the red, puffy appearance of his irritated eye sockets.   
  
There’s a finality in the way that he sits back against his legs. He’s giving himself over to the mercy of Rodolphus, just as he had many times before.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except Rodolphus wants none of it.
> 
> What he wants is to spit something vile and belittling. That this is the price you pay for inciting a war; that this is what happens when you push and push and push everything and everyone; that Lucius surrenders now, for he’s beaten and shattered.

After an entire evening of suffocating silence, of being strangled against the wall and of having air kicked out of his lungs by glass planets colliding all around, only now Rodolphus wonders if this is what choking feels like.  
  
Lucius is there with his steely, better-not-fuck-with-me look - and it crashes, infuriatingly, with his damned vulnerability and the tears glistening on that delicate, chiselled face.  
  
There for the rage, for exploitation, for regret, for compassion. There for whatever the hell Rodolphus wants.  
  
Except Rodolphus wants none of it.  
  
What he wants is to spit something vile and belittling. That this is the price you pay for inciting a war; that this is what happens when you push and push and push everything and everyone; that Lucius surrenders now, for he’s beaten and shattered.  
  
But the only things that are beaten and shattered are the fragments of Rodolphus’s fucking heart that he does not, in the most fearful and cowardly of sentiments, want to unstick from the walls of his diaphragm. Will not.  
  
It’s better this way.  
  
But God, does he want to be pushed one last time.  
  
To exorcise the demons Lucius had the carelessness to wake up; to unclench his teeth, let the arsenic bitterness snake from his tongue and set the ground ablaze; to pick up the wand and cleave the viaduct in two, sending an entire world made of two people crumble down in excruciating demise.  
  
Sadistic urges, swirling around his chest and crawling among his veins, are rotten and plaguing - the colour of verdigris - and the only salvation from guilt taking roots inside of his solar plexus is letting them wash all over: consume him, engulf him, erase him.  
  
And he tries, and he tries, and he tries.  
  
But he caves in the middle, and cracks on the sides.  
  
The tiniest of nods comes as both the hardest and most effortless gesture.  
  
And Lucius sinks to his knees, braced and graceful even as he throws himself to the wolves, unapologetic eyes piercing right through Rodolphus.  
  
“For the love of-” The simple act of submission makes him crumble completely, the end of the sentence dying and knocking to pieces between them.  
  
Everything scares him, terrifies him, creeps up the side of his neck and pours nonsense into his mind…  
  
And he can’t look. So he averts his gaze and stumbles back, refusing to let the sizzling sun be the last thing to collapse at his feet before he, himself, perishes.  
  
What, for the love of all things holy and sacred, is Rodolphus supposed to do now.  
  
He fights for air, the deep pull of oxygen into his lungs expanding and contracting his frame visibly. Eyelids shut stuck, he teeters between fight and flight, trying to beat the sunlight out of his own goddamn sky. 

  
  
Rodolphus’s own grief grieves him.  
  
Lucius’s devastates him.  
  
The shaky feeling in his legs is a warning: if his knees hit the ground right now, if he levels with Lucius and lays himself out bare, he’s never getting back up.  
  
Rain is descending from heaven in torrents as Rodolphus rises from hell and grovels to the dark, shiny pavement, praying his feet don’t give out.  
  
With the infinite tenderness of a loyal fool and the vehement fervour of a suicide bomber, he runs a knuckle down his friend’s cheek, wiping away the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodolphus stands before him, but does not kneel. He does not lower himself to Lucius’s level but still, even with hair matted to his skin and rain soaked tears running down his face, he cranes his neck to look up at this boy. This man. It’s dark enough so that the shadows envelope the bulk of Rodolphus’s form, but he stands tall- be it with or without purpose, and Lucius regards him with a slack jaw and an open mouth like he’s desperately trying to breathe him in.

Every single fiber of Lucius’s being is begging Rodolphus to react. He needs to say something. He needs to  _do_  something. Lucius begs him to cut him down to size; to blatantly compromise every single institution that the boy had been raised on. Give him an excuse to grow into this bitter and deplorable man that everyone expected him to be. Make it easy.   
  
Break him.   
  
But he doesn’t. Lucius was sure that he would and he  _doesn’t_. The boy can’t decide whether or not he should feel relieved, or if the notion would compel him to lash out even harder. Does he want to push these buttons or should he leave them be? Every single thought that prances through his disastrously delicate mind is split in two.   
  
Make it better, or make it worse?   
  
Which hurts worse? What does he deserve? How far should he take it?   
  
Rodolphus stands before him, but does not kneel. He does not lower himself to Lucius’s level but still, even with hair matted to his skin and rain soaked tears running down his face, he cranes his neck to look up at this boy. This  _man_. It’s dark enough so that the shadows envelope the bulk of Rodolphus’s form, but he stands tall- be it with or without purpose, and Lucius regards him with a slack jaw and an open mouth like he’s desperately trying to breathe him in.   


  
  


  
He regards his touch for a moment and illicits with it an audible whimper, like some sort of divine entity had just bestowed upon him the gift of life. The feel of Rodolphus’s knuckle dragging down his cheek ignites in him a spark… One that both instills in him an overwhelming sense of comfort and forces him from his feet. Lucius stumbles over himself as he scrambles from his knees, his knuckles mashing into the hard ground beneath him in order to push himself up.   
  
Rodolphus’s touch lingers and even borderlines on lazy as Lucius rises to meet his erect stature. Their eyes lock, and even as the older boys eyes remain soft as a reminder of the hurt behind his petty mask…   
  
He’s suddenly slapping Rod’s hand away from him, the tiny gasp that slips past his lips as he does so is drowned out by the sound of thunder crashing around them.   
  
His oceanic stare bounces back and forth between Rodolphus’s eyes, from left to right, over and over. They exchange a heavy silence. There’s just enough room between them so that each of them can breathe out comfortably.   
  
Then, without warning, Lucius lands a blow of his fist against his friends chest.   
  
There’s far less than all of his weight behind it. In fact, unless it startled him, it wouldn’t have been likely to knock him backwards or cause him to stumble. It’s just enough to exert his protest. To go ahead and say, without words,  _I’m not okay. This doesn’t fix anything._  
  
Again, but this time with the other fist, he comes up against the hard rock that was the Lestrange boys chest, hovering just over his heart.   
  
The physical abuse against Rodolphus continues, and it’s not that Lucius doesn’t realize or that he hadn’t considered his pain… He  _had_. That was just the problem. He wants someone to share in his pain. There’s no way for him to verbally convey how he is feeling.  **No**  way. He can’t explain to him that this time of the year was always the hardest for him. He doesn’t want to completely split himself open, to divulge his darkest shadows onto what could possibly be the only other person he knew with a past more painful than his own.   
  
Lucius just can’t fucking do it.   
  
And so the more that Rodolphus pushed to close the space between them both physically  _and_  emotionally, the harder Lucius swings.   
  
He swings against his father. He swings against his future, and all of the decisions already decided for him. Most importantly, he swings against his mother. Swings against the accident. Swings against whatever magic or cursed God that took her from him and left him in the hands of the most evil life he could have ever imagined for himself.   
  
Nearly out of his mind as a stiff numbness took over his body; Lucius just keeps swinging. Screaming.   
  
Regretting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell if this is how it all ends.
> 
> So Rodolphus starts making his way through the thorns, the self-loathing narcissist baring his face for slaughter.
> 
> Lucius’s firm fist is Rodolpus’s gutted breath, and he takes the punch for his guilt. Unwavering and relentless, blood seeping between his teeth and lips, he refuses to be pushed away. Beaten away. Hurt away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/

For a split second, Rodolphus allows himself to think he had managed to tame the wild, majestic beast. To weather the ruthless storm.

Lucius Malfoy is still and quiet beneath his touch, _allowing_  it. And even though the gesture is meant to comfort the older boy, it relaxes Rodolphus like a hot bath. Like the first ray of light after the darkest of nights. Like coming home.

He forgets that the comfort of home, with the sense of safety it belies, is false.

So even as his hand is swatted away; even as a momentarily earnest look on the face moving further and further away from his touch grows harder around the edges; as every heavy raindrop; every unfriendly gust of wind close in on him like ill-fated harbingers of death…What Rodolphus still harbours is hope.

And for hope, he has  _always_  been punished.

The first punch is symbolic, rather confusing than hurtful, and Rodolphus makes a point out of not moving away.

_I know what you’re doing._

_**Save it.** _

Yet it is when the hand Rodolphus allows to rest on his chest as he sleeps, the hand that can land on his shoulder without a warning and not cause him to tense - slams heavy and dire against his face, that Lucius oversteps.

This punch he takes for his hope.

The younger boy stumbles back, incredulous, and for the first time that night - for the first time in all twelve long years - he wants to leave. To hide his face in the crease of Rabastan’s neck, to hurl himself into the steaming hot shower until the hurt melts away. To let Emma tell him he’s more than what happens to him. To let Amycus touch his hand like it’s still worth holding.

With the faintest rise of his furrowed brows, the halt of irregular breathing, and the twitch of his snapped shut mouth - Rodolphus lets the tears break free from his bloodshot eyes.

And as he laughs a streak of crimson onto the pavement - voice dry and everything but amused, his teeth close around his bottom lip and bite down.

_“No.”_

_Hell_  if this is how it all ends.

So Rodolphus starts making his way through the thorns, the self-loathing narcissist baring his face for slaughter.

Lucius’s firm fist is Rodolpus’s gutted breath, and he takes the punch for his guilt. Unwavering and relentless, blood seeping between his teeth and lips, he refuses to be pushed away. Beaten away. Hurt away.

Lucius’s bruising knuckles are Rodolphus’s spreading wounds, and he takes the punch for his past, for his present, and for all the worse things to come. 

“ _ **Don’t** , Lucius_,” His voice bends and breaks, threshes between pleads and demands. “ **Don’t.** ”

Lucius’s chaotic shoves are Rodolphus’s aching bones, and he takes the punch for remorse ephemeral, borderline nonexistent but as always _not quite_ , and takes the punch for the heresy of finding that shameful.

Fallen apart, soaking wet and tireless, Lucius is the God of destruction. 

Impulses carnal and raw. Unbridled. Unchecked. 

Rodolphus notes what a curious feeling it is, of mixed fascination and agony, that turns him into a crusader for chaos draped in the flag of his deity.  


The rest of the distance between them he closes on shaky feet, and he will take the punch for existing, for trusting, for feeling. For breathing.

But _never._

_**Never.** _

For choosing to stick around. 

Lucius’s hands, flying in all directions, are the bullets grazing Rodolphus’s vital organs as he ignores the whole world, a singular, comforting word falling repetitive from his mouth - calming, frustrated, exhausted:

Lu. 

_Lu._

_**Lu.** _

And as soon as he traps the pale wrists in his grasp, as soon as he bides himself enough time…

Rodolphus’s hand is gripping the back of the other boy’s neck, pulling him to the crease of his own.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius chokes on an intake of air when Rodolphus finally grabs him, slippery fingers wrapping around the boys wrists in a firm display of command. 
> 
> Enough. It says. 
> 
> Enough is enough.

_No._  
  
 **Don’t.**   _Lucius, **don’t**_.“   
  
Every fist that lands against the firmness of Rodolphus causes him to shake. Lucius begins to tremble to his core, his teeth grinding harder and harder against each other until he’s not sure anymore whether they’d began to crack.   
  
The feeling in his body begins to come back, like a tingle washing over every bit of his nearly exposed skin; Suit jacket having long been discarded. It comes in waves, dizzying him to the point that bits of black cloud his vision with Rodolphus coming in and out of focus.   
  
Somewhere inside of him he  _feels_  the quiver in his friends voice, the hit landing a blow against his heart as it flutters in his chest and begs him to stop.   
  
 _Stop. Don’t. Lucius, you’re **destroying him**._  
  
Lucius chokes on an intake of air when Rodolphus finally grabs him, slippery fingers wrapping around the boys wrists in a firm display of command.   
  
 _Enough_. It says.  _Enough is enough._  
  
And the message is finally received, loud and clear.   
  
Rodolphus takes advantage of the faltering in Lucius’s movements, an assertive grasp taking a hold of the back of his neck as it pulls him closer. His body tenses, and his first instinct is to fight it. Fight him away,  _he’s just trying to silence your pain_.   
  
Lucius knows better. He really does.   
  
So instead, Lucius’s shoulders slump, his entire body flaccid against Rodolphus. Shaking hands find the front of his jacket, fingers curling against the fabric as tight as he can manage. The boy pulls and pushes, pawing against this human beacon of strength because he can’t get close enough. Can’t get far enough away.   
  
He’s not sure which is worse.   
  
As if it were second nature, he melts into the boy and the flood gates are completely in shambles. His face presses into the crook of his neck, gasping for air between sobs. The mix of Rodolphus’s scent and the smell of the rain do little to relax him, but still he attempts to cocoon against him. To use the other boy like a shield from the rest of the world. A missing piece of Lucius that hadn’t really been missing at all, and while his brain fights to justify just how undeserving he is- Rodolphus fights in favor of Lucius.   
  
That’s all he really needs.   
  
” _Sorry_.“ He hiccups against the cold, clammy flesh of Rodolphus’s neck.   
  
” _I’m sorry.“_ He drones on, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Until his voice shrinks into a whisper and then disappears all together, leaving him to simply mouth the words against the other boys skin.

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy - get_going
> 
> Rodolphus Lestrange - haas
> 
> So! Thanks for taking a minute to check this out. These two child disasters can't communicate emotions to save their lives - consequentially, shit escalates way too quickly.
> 
> We'd greatly appreciate any sort of feedback! Also, if you're interested, do stop by the RP where it all went down: http://adlucem-rp.tumblr.com/


End file.
